


red cloud

by Jaybird_Wings



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Description of wounds, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Post March 1 Stream, Toby Smith | Tubbo is Not Okay, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), because of Tommy's March 4 stream ahahahahaha sob, tommy's stream was brutal and i want clingy angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybird_Wings/pseuds/Jaybird_Wings
Summary: It had blended with the sunrise, but there’s something between the lithe smoke of a torch and heavy cumulonimbus clouds surrounding Tommy’s face. A bright red cloud, dense enough to hide all of his facial features, save for the shadow of his neck and jawline.Or, Ghostinnit doesn't want people to see his face.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 253





	red cloud

**Author's Note:**

> The image of Tommy with clouds surrounding his head plagued me, and I ended up writing a whole thing for it.

Jack sees Tommy’s silhouette up against a red sky. It’s just sunrise, but it churns his gut all the same. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, not since hearing the news and… questioning everything.

He does hope for a moment that it’s _just_ Tommy. Maybe everyone was wrong, even the death message on his console.

But, even from behind, he can see the translucence of the boy, and the sharp rays of light that cut through him.

They are hundreds of feet away from the prison, and with a disappointment that sits heavy in his gut, Jack is pretty sure he’s the first person to run into Tommy’s ghost. Him, of all people. 

Ghostbur had freaked out many of them. They asked their questions and the ex-president had less answers for the people than wanted. A memory poked through with holes and gaps. So, Jack isn’t sure what version of Tommy this is going to be. A starry eyed soldier, a war worn teen, or even a grey-eyed boy with torn clothes.

Nothing prepares him for when Tommy turns around.

It had blended with the sunrise, but there’s something between the lithe smoke of a torch and heavy cumulonimbus clouds surrounding Tommy’s face. A bright red cloud, dense enough to hide all of his facial features, save for the shadow of his neck and jawline. Even with so little on display, Jack can spot the finger impressions bruised on his neck, see the scraps and bruises on his wrists and forearms.

Locked together with Dream. In a cell, for a week. Killed by Dream, in the end. 

He had wanted to at least say good morning, maybe try to calm the probably hysterical apparition, but the words all choke and die in his throat.

Tommy floated just above the ground, legs slightly bent, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Although his face was hidden, teardrops could be seen falling off his chin.

_“Don’t- don’t look at me.”_ Tommy cries out, and something like primal fear filled Jack. He runs, runs far away until his chest burns and restricts and the soles of his feet ache.

News spreaded about the new ghost fast, after everyone on the server saw the frenzied sight of Jack running for his life.

Tommy wandered far away from the prison, which made sense. He isn’t like Ghostbur, happy and ready to talk with people. The sight of somebody approaching him spooks the ghost into a panic, so for right now people are giving him space. Maybe it’s because most people don’t know how to deal with he fact that _the_ Tommyinnit was…. well….

The ghost hadn’t lingered by his house or the populated areas of the SMP, disappearing into forest’s or mountains.

Techno figures he isn’t going to be invited to the funeral anyways, so when he sees Tommy he doesn’t let the encounter pass.

“What… what happened?” The piglin’s usually steady voice wavers. Maybe it’s a bad question to ask the traumatized ghost of a kid, but he really doesn’t know. He hasn’t kept up with the news of the community since blowing up L’manberg, and somehow in peacetime is when Tommy ends up losing his last life.

He’s unnerved by the cloud concealing the ghost’s emotions, it’s the kind of feeling usually reserved for Dream and his uncanny mask. But, Techno’s experience with ghosts starts and ends with Wilbur’s so he doesn’t know what’s considered weird and what wasn’t.

Tommy rasps out after a long silence, “I didn’t make it… I didn’t think I would, I mean, but still…”

The wind blows harshly, out in the tundra. _He’s pretty sure_ that besides something like rain or snow, the elements never effected Wilbur. But the red smoke billows and sways with the gust, and just for a second Techno sees a part of Tommy’s face.

Tommyinnit was slain by Dream. The notification was vague, and Techno had assumed some inane situation where Dream escaped prison, gave some stupid speech, and like, stabbed Tommy or some shit.

Tommy gasps, hands coming up to cover his face and quickly flying away.

Techno didn’t see much, nor was it for that long, but he saw sallow skin, red rimmed eyes and too much blood. It was... brutal.

With a snarl, Techno punches into the spruce tree next to him.

Tubbo doesn’t want to see Tommy. Not his best friend, not him, as a ghost. Tommy is-was the most vibrant person he knew. Nobody could shout and run and smile with so much energy. With so much life. 

But he finds the ghost curled up on the bench, watching the sunset. It was a late, only a few purples and pinks blended in with the dark navy of the sky. Jack had mentioned how Tommy’s face was obscured, but Tubbo had years of learning Tommy’s body language.

During the first L’manbergian war he moved confidently yet awkwardly. He was always so self-assured, but tried hiding that he didn’t quite know how lead an army, write a treaty, or how to win a battle.

His time in Pogtopia had calmed him jittering movements, no stealthy and slow actions guaranteed his survival then. They were still big and he still jumped and ran like he owned the world. But there was a carefulness that existed in them now.

And after Wilbur blew their country to kingdom come, people would say Tommy’s personality hadn’t changed much. But Tubbo could see the damage done in his curled in movements. He was more reserved, locked in, and unwilling to talk about how he actually felt. It had frustrated Tubbo at the time, because he had a country to run and a best friend to worry about. Every so often, Tommy’s arm would jerk out in a wide movement, maybe to gesture to the new lake underneath them, or a wide kick to knock a rock over the pier.

He had assumed it was just Tommy trying to open up again. Let the world back in. Maybe it just meant the blonde was capable of doing something brash and impulsive.

Post the second exile and the final death of L’manberg, Tommy moved with extreme precision. Like one wrong move would break everything. He laughed loud still, cursed at people but even his never ending well of light seemed to have dimmed. If Tubbo lifted his hand too fast- just fix his coat, grab something from a shelf, or to hand Tommy something- he’d flinch away. His face would reddened and he would push off the moment as nothing. But he could see in every constricted movement that Tommy was very, very hurt.

And not for the first time, he didn’t quite know how to interact wit his best friend. Recently all his inquiries were met with denial and his suggestions were met with opposition. And now.

Even now, he didn’t know how to talk to the ghost. Tommy was curled up tight in a ball and tense. It reminded him of the night Tommy had slept over at Snowchester when the two had spent too long wandering in the forest cutting wood. Tommy had curled up in the guest room, wound up tight.

The wall between them had felt inpenenetrable.

It still does. Tommy doesn’t say a word, and his face is hidden away. Tubbo could be sitting next to a statue for all it mattered. He feels cut off, even more now than ever.

Tubbo starts, “I miss when we- we would talk. Honestly. Before the war, remember when we had this whole fantasy of running away? Or before doomsday, when we dreaded the events of another war.”

Besides slightly shifting in his seat, Tommy acknowledge him.

His voice grows louder, “But you- you never told me what happened in exile. You said it was horrible, but… how could we let this happen? Why couldn’t you just- just be honest with me? Why couldn’t you stay in Snowchester? I wanted to be there for you, but you wouldn’t let me and- I should’ve been there. I should’ve been with you like you were with me when I thought I was going to die.”

“There was nothing to be done…” Tommy’s echo-ed voice answers.

“Nothing to be done? But- but it’s not _fair._ We’ve been through wars and faced gods of men and we’ve been torn apart but we always made it through. And now all that Sam will tell mewas that he found Dream laughing over your-”

_Your corpse._

He feels sick to his stomach.

Tommy’s legs untuck from under him, setting his heels flat onto the gras. He tilts his head back, indicated through the shifting of smoke, and he says, “Everyone is blaming themselves. Saying shit like ‘they should have been there’ or whatever. Fucking pity parties everywhere. But I’m glad nobody else was there.”

“Tommy, he took your last life-”

“And it was embarrassing. I couldn’t do- do anything. Just plead and beg and bleed out, with no way of ever seeing the sun again. It wasn’t heroic, or dramatic. It was just- small. I felt small.” His voice quiets and breaks at the end.

Tommy brings his hands to his face, fingers disappearing into the smoke.

Tubbo tries reaching out, but Tommy jerks away from his touch.

“Tubbo, Big T, it was unavoidable. I don’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal about- about it. Locked in with Dream? It was never going to end well. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Unavoidable? How was this unavoidable? Tommy I’m... _lost_. You’ve got to tell me what you’re feeling, you’ve got to stop hiding it because I’m worried and I need answers.”

The ghost stands up fast, hovering past the jukebox, red dust trailing after his form and rippling around his head.

“You’ve got to stop being such a worrywart… You’re making a hotel, right? With Ranboo? That sounds fun, you should… worry about that. And Snowchester! Snowchester is going to be really great… There’s not going to be anymore conflict. Dream hurt everyone because of me, and now the problem is gone! Gone. I’m fine with this…” Tommy trailed off, staring at the dark horizon.

“But you’re not. You’re just- hiding it all again. People are in mourning because we... we miss you Tommy, we cared about you… you weren’t a problem. You aren’t, so you can show me. You can be open with me.”

Tommy fidgets with the hem of his shirt, “You’re going to cry…”

“I’ve already been crying a lot, big man. Little more won’t hurt me.” He gives a wavering smile.

Looking carefully in the dim glow of the lantern light, the cloud around Tommy’s head starts to dissipate. But just as fast, he brings a hand up to hide his face, smoky tendrils curling around his fingers.

“It’s okay, it’s okay now.” He whispers, hovering his hands next to Tommy’s arms. He wasn’t sure how close would be too close, so he keeps his touch light and unobtrusive.

The last wisps of smoke blow away into the soundless night. Slowly, Tommy drops his hands.

Tubbo feels his eyes burn with tears and Tommy frowns. He can clearly see it.

Tommy and Tubbo know war better than they know a mother’s comfort. And in their experiences, any wound given was meant to be fatal. The explosive burst of a firework, a well aimed arrow to the chest, or the decisive and all consuming work of TNT.

But Tommy was here, in front of him, as a ghost. Blood drips down from a matted mass of hair with clotted blood all over the side of his head. It drops from his crooked nose and split lip. One of his eyes is blackened and swollen up in a bruise, and similar discoloration spots his jaw and neck and Tubbo lets out a sob.

He looks to the dark impression of fingers curled around his neck. There’s small, jagged cuts over his cheek, forehead, and crescents bitten into his neck. All of his wounds are pure violence. Tommy’s eyes are bloodshot and watery as well, eyes casted downward.

“I didn’t want… anybody to see this. It’s just pathetic.”

Something twists painfully in his chest as the tears spill over. Tommy looks _ashamed_ that he’s been beaten to all hell. It’s the most brutal thing Tubbo’s seen, next to his own horror when his body burnt under the heat of a firework.

“N-no… it’s not. Why would you say that…?”

“It’s humiliating. Ghostbur’s wound on his chest never goes away, and when I saw the absolute mess I was, I was just so- so horrified. You can’t- you can’t tell anybody this is what I ended up as. I didn’t get a symphony that ended with explosions, or with the death of a nation under my belt. Just- just him and me in an obsidian box. No enchanted bows or netherite swords… just his hands, and mine. My useless fucking hands.”

Tubbo doesn’t know what to say. He’s been speechless for so long. Ever since that moment on the obsidian wall, watching Tommy disappear into the rain, his words have felt too quiet no matter how much he screamed them.

Nothing he says is going to change the fact that Tommy is dead. He can’t say it’ll be alright, or that it’s okay. There’s nothing he can do to comfort the ghost as he starts crying, eyes scrunching up as tear trails mix in with so much blood.

Corporeality wasn’t always a sure thing for Ghostbur, but when Tubbo opens his arms, Tommy leans into the hug. A chill presses into Tubbos skin, but he holds on tight.

All he can do right now is hold on.


End file.
